


For Survival

by whileyemay



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2020-03-18 00:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18974998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whileyemay/pseuds/whileyemay
Summary: In an interview, Bryce Dallas Howard said Chris Pratt told her Owen is in love with Claire when we first meet them at the beginning of Jurassic World. With that lovely thought in mind, this is my attempt to write the origin of their relationship, from pre-movie to post-movie.





	1. Chapter 1

As a general rule, Owen Grady doesn’t punch above his weight class when it comes to women. That isn’t typically an issue, he’s a pretty decent looking guy, and he knows, and respects, the limits of his bravado. But there is something almost mystical about the beautiful red-head he’s been eyeing at this resort all week and he’s feeling particularly adventurous after nailing the InGen interview a few hours ago. He could barely keep the smile off his face on the ferry ride back to the swanky mainland hotel the company put him up in, and he’s still jittery and anxious—the last time he felt like this he was barely 20 years old, driving a motorcycle for the first time. He wants to share his excitement with someone, anyone, a longing for connection he typically keeps at bay, creeping up this spine. He’s about to start training raptors for fucksake, surely he can approach a woman. When she sits a few seats away from him at the hotel bar that evening, he realizes it’s the closest he’s gotten to her all week, and he imagines he can smell her vanilla scented perfume, taunting him to make his move. He downs a shot of tequila, orders another, and slides down the bar to stand next to her. 

Standing this close to her, he can’t help but notice she’s even more stunning than he realized from a distance. Her slinky black cocktail dress is both simple and striking, paired with her sleek red bob and fuck-me heals, she gives off a classic old Hollywood vibe. Despite the fact that he can tell she comes from money— her outfit probably cost more than his yearly salary— he’s feeling pretty confident in his freshly pressed suit. 

"You look hard to handle," he jokes with a confident, knowing smirk. 

"Cute." She doesn’t look up, but the smile that meets the corner of her eyes tells him she’s obviously more amused than her tone of voice depicts. 

"You really think so?"

Claire lets out a tiny laugh, shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

She still hasn’t looked up from her phone yet, but she also hasn’t punched him, so Owen counts that as a potential win and goes for it, "Can I buy you a drink?"

She places the phone back into her handbag and finally looks up at him, smiling wide this time, “I already have a drink."  
"Great! I'll buy you some tapas." Owen counters without missing a beat. He also doesn’t miss the fact that her eyes are spectacular and he gulps down his nerves to call the bartender. As he orders food, the mystery woman watches him, her head tilted to the side the way dogs do when they’re trying to figure something out. It occurs to him that he needs to spend a little less time with animals and a little more time with humans. Preferable this one. 

"So, what's a beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?"

"You mean this five star resort?” She questions him laughing. “I was hoping to get some peace and quiet."

"Nah, they're both overrated."

"Says the man who's been sitting in the corner reading by himself all week."

That gets Owen’s attention. "So you have noticed me!" 

"It's a small resort," She tries to diminish it, but when she averts her eyes it’s clear she knows she’s revealed more than she intended to reveal. 

He doesn’t want to spook her, so he volunteers his side, "I've noticed you, too, you know. For a woman looking for some peace and quiet you sure have your cell phone glued firmly to your ear." 

"Chaos at work. My input is critical to operations."

He grins and gives her an obvious once over with intense eyes, "Of that I have no doubt."

She turns in her chair now to look him square in the face, "Is there a reason you came over here?"

"Well, I was hoping to get your name, at the very least."

"I don't give that out to strangers in bars."

"Fair enough." Owen takes a swig of his drink. "How about a dance then?" 

"I don't think so."

"Oh, come on, you're on vacation, live a little," he adds the last bit with a wink.

“It’s not exactly a vacation. My boss thought it would be good for morale if I took a little break.” She didn’t bother to mention Mr. Masrani meant the morale of everyone who worked for her. It wasn’t lost on her that this man wasn’t looking at her like she was “the boss”, or someone to be feared, and it occurred to her that it’s been quite a while since a man looked at her like she was delicate. 

He can tell she’s thinking about his proposition, so he pushes forward, “you know what’s great for morale—dancing.”

“You don’t give up easily, do you?”

“Not as a general rule, no.” 

With a long suffering sigh, Claire relents. “Fine. One dance."

"That's all I'll need."

She tentatively takes the hand he extends to her and lets him lead her to the dance floor. The music is an unassuming two step. Something clearly meant to be ignored as background noise, and the band looks almost surprised when they take the empty dance floor. Claire wraps one hand around his broad shoulder and lets him pull the other to rest clasped in his large hand over his heart. Their feet fight for control of the movement at first and he laughs a bit and asks her for permission to lead. She grants his wish with a slight confirming nod and looks around the room to make sure no one is watching them. She doesn’t want to have to deal with rumors about her torrid mainland affair with a handsome stranger. And he is handsome, almost alarmingly so, in his suit that does nothing to hide the muscles in his arms—the muscles she’s been trying not to stare at all week. Pressed so closely against him she can smell his earthy cologne, it almost clashes with his polished look, but not necessarily in a bad way. After a bit of swaying she looks up into his face to find him staring down at her with a cheeky smile. He spins and dips her and she is genuinely delighted to find that he seems to know what he’s doing. 

"Jesus, you're actually pretty good at this."

"Don't act so surprised. It's mildly insulting."

"I didn't mean anything by it, I just assumed, given the muscles, your talents were brute strength related."

"You noticed my muscles, eh?!” He watches her avert her eyes again so he uses a finger on their joined hands to tilt her chin back up to face him. “I’m kidding, I get it. I'm really going to blow you away when I admit it was my mother who taught me how to be light on my feet."

"Really?"

"Yep, she was a dance teacher in her spare time. She taught high school English for a living, so I also know quite a bit of poetry, too.

"You're joking, right?”

Owen leans in close to her ear and begins to whisper:

“Since feeling is first  
who pays any attention  
to the syntax of things  
will never wholly kiss you.  
That’s E.E. Cummings," Owen proudly declares with a slight bow. 

Claire smiles and a deep roar of laughter escapes her, it’s almost incompatible with her usually composed demeanor. “WOW. I bet that goes over well with the ladies.”

He treats her accusation like a compliment and tilts his head as if to thank her adding, "You've got a great laugh, by the way. You should do that more often." 

"I don't regularly get the chance with work--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, the chaos, I remember.” Owen cuts her off with another theatrical dip. He has this woman’s number now; she desperately needs to relax and enjoy the moment. Those are tasks he’s quite good at, so he takes the leap, “Say, I think I'm having one of my top 10 luckiest days ever."

"How nice for you,” she says, tilting her head for a mocking dramatic effect. 

"It is!” He ignores her teasing. “But, see, I'm thinking about going for top 5, with your help, of course."

"What did you have in mind?" Claire smiles shyly and Owen’s heart skips a beat, or maybe it picks up speed, his brain isn’t working at full capacity with this woman in his arms. 

"Join me for a drink in my room?"

"What's in it for me, Walt Whitman?"

He likes her wit and humor. He likes her far more than he ever expected to from a distance. The dress, the style, he’d assumed she was just a beautiful, half-witted, bored, rich snob. He realizes now that this woman isn’t JUST anything. He decides to go with his gut on this one. Leaning in until his lips almost graze her ear he whispers, "Let's just say, 'I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.'"

He pulls back to make eye contact with her, his intentions clear on his face. It’s obvious he’s done with light flirting; he’s serious about something else now. Claire has never slept with a stranger before and she finds the thought slightly terrifying. Getting laid would certainly help HER morale, and tangentially that was supposed to be the whole point of this waste of time vacation. It’s been a while since she’s been with anyone she muses now that she takes the time to contemplate her sex life. Besides, he isn’t entirely a stranger, she justifies. She has been watching him from the corner of her eye all week, and, from a distance, at least, he seems relatively harmless, not to mention sexy as all hell. With a slight flutter in her stomach, she bites her lip and wonders if he can move as good in bed as he does on the dance floor. Never one to shy away from a challenge, Claire decides to take the plunge.

"Okay."

Owen scrunches this face in confusion, obviously a bit stunned. "Okay?"

"Okay. But we’re going to my room for that drink.”

"Yeah. Good. I mean, great! Okay."

Owen realizes he’s turning into a bumbling idiot, so he grabs her hand, practically throwing money at the bartender and their untouched food, as they make a mad dash for the elevator. He is absolutely sure a woman like this could think herself right out of him, so as soon as the elevator doors shut he turns to her like a lion closing in on his prey, backing her up to the wall as he bends to kiss her lips. The kiss starts slow for all the swagger behind the approach, but he lets her escalate it, until they are breathless and pawing at each other like a couple of teenagers. 

He doesn’t even know how they get from the elevator to her room, but he’s wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and kissing the nape of her neck as she tries to get her key card to open the door.

“You sure about me?” Lord knows, he doesn’t want to screw himself out of this experience, but he also doesn’t want anyone doing anything they aren’t comfortable doing. 

“Relatively.” She responds laughing as the door clicks open and she turns to drag him by his shirt collar into her room. 

Owen breaks the kiss when he looks past her and realizes they must be in the penthouse suite. One entire wall is a window overlooking the resort and the bed is so big it probably needs its own zip code. Eyes wide and mouth agape, he lets her go to check out the view, “Jesus, looks like all that chaos is paying off.”

Claire takes the opportunity to take her shoes off and grants his observation a tiny laugh. When he looks back at her sitting on the edge of the bed, she seems smaller, fidgeting with her hands and repeatedly pushing her red locks behind her ears. Owen can tell she’s nervous. 

"It's...ah...been awhile,” she offers as an explanation for her sudden withdrawal. 

Owen sighs, as he plops down on the edge of the bed next to her. "Same."

"Oh?"

"U.S. Navy." He declares with a salute.

"Oh. So, what, you're like a sailor on leave?"  
Owen chuckles, "Something like that."

Claire looks at him with a mischievous smile on her face. "Then I guess it's up to me to show you a good time?"

"For America," he adds without skipping a beat. 

Claire laughs a deep, unrestrained belly laugh and Owen stares at her with something resembling awe on his face, "Good Lord, you're beautiful." Reaching for her hand, he pulls her into his lap. With her legs draped across his, Claire slides her hands into the hair on the nape of his neck and kisses him slowly. 

He whispers against her lips, “you don't have to do this."

Claire’s dazed by the kiss, her brain in a fog, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you don't want to do this, I'll go."

"I want to." She has a sly smile on her face when she pulls back to study his eyes. She grinds her ass into the growing bulge in his lap. 

Owen growls. "Thank God."

He runs his large, rugged hands up one of her silky smooth legs and doesn't stop until he reaches her center. She lets out a squeak of surprise when his bulky fingers apply pressure in just the right spot. He can feel how wet she is through her panties and it makes his dick twitch under her. She hops off his lab and without breaking eye contact, slides the straps of her dress off her shoulders causing her dress to fall to the floor. Owen would tell her how amazing she looks, but his throat is completely dry. When she takes off her bra and panties, eyes fixed on him, obviously giving him a show, all he can do is stare. The bright red patch of curls at the apex of her legs and her lily-white breasts leave him speechless. She is spectacular. 

Since words have failed him, he leaps from the bed and crashes his mouth into hers, tangling his fingers in her hair flying every which way. Something primal in him wants to shake up her perfectly crafted persona. He wants to make a mess of her, if only to show her how the other half lives. He picks her up and tosses her on the bed and she giggles as she hits the mattress. She beams up at him when she realizes he’s still fully dressed and it’s her turn for the show. 

Ripping his clothes off in haste, he doesn’t realize how intently she’s watching him until he’s completely naked. He stands tall and with a smug grin, letting her get a good look, before he pulls on her legs until her ass is nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. He’s on his knees and between her legs before she even realizes his plan and now it’s her turn to be thunderstruck. 

Claire isn’t a virgin, by any stretch of the imagination, but she isn’t terribly experienced either. She’s had a few serious relationships over the years, mostly with preppy pricks who wouldn’t know how to get a woman off if their yachts depended on it. That said, no one has ever gone down on her like this before. Owen isn’t holding anything back; he’s eating her like he wants to taste her fucking soul. His strong arms wrapped around her legs, locking her in place as she wiggles and moans at the sensations he’s sending up her spine. She grabs desperately for anything that will give her purchase, the sheets, his hair, her own hair, her breasts; she’s like a woman possessed when her orgasm crashes over her. 

Crawling up her body, he gives her a filthy tease of a kiss and demands, "Tell me what you want."

It’s a relatively simple request but she’s orgasm drunk and completely unfamiliar with a man putting her requests first. She’s taken aback, by her own pathetic realization, and it sparks something bold in her. "Let me lead this time."

"You got it," he says without any hesitation as he settles back on the bed and lifts her over him. 

To his delight, she slides down the bed taking nearly all of him in her mouth at once. He tries to watch her, but the enthusiasm she’s giving him with his dick in her mouth prevents him from keeping his head up for very long. He’d assumed she’d tease him, make a show of it, like most women with her profile do, but once again she’s nothing like what he thought. She’s spitting on him and drooling down this dick and she isn’t trying to make this pretty. He knows if she keeps this up, he’s going to cum, so he manages to whine out, "condom in jacket. Wallet."

Claire is delighted to reduce this man to monosyllabic responses. Claire slides off the bed to retrieve the condom from his discarded suit jacket. She lets him put the condom on and then lines herself up to ride him. Her legs clench as she slowly slides onto his dick. His hands are twitching on her hips and he’s obviously holding himself back until she’s ready to move. He grunts when she starts to bounce above him, his hands stray from her hips to rub up and down her chest and back. He thumbs her clit, causing her to lose her rhythm. She’s certain she’s about to cum, until he pulls her down to his chest, hands firmly holding her flat against him, and he starts to thrust up with abandon, his pelvic bone now doing the clit rubbing. Capturing her mouth, he kisses her as he continues to push into her. That’s all Claire needs to send her over the edge and Owen is soon to follow. 

"Oh God!" Claire cries out in a voice that sounds nothing like her own as she collapses all her weight onto him. 

Owen is laughing and stroking her hair, when he finally manages to correct her. "Actually, it's Owen."

Breathless, Claire repeats his name like a prayer, "Owen."

In that moment he realizes that he would give his right arm to hear his name come out of her mouth again. He had totally underestimated this woman. He thought he was going to rock her world when she just turned his on its fucking axis. And he didn’t even know her name. 

They both drift off and he hears her get up and go into the bathroom. He falls asleep waiting for her return and wakes up to the sun shining on his face and an empty bed. He’s flabbergasted. All her stuff is gone, and she obviously fled in the night. He thought they had a nice time and she left him high and dry. No note. No name. If he hadn’t woken up in the penthouse, he might have thought he dreamed the whole damn thing. 

He can’t let it go. Back in his own room, packing up his clothes to leave, he ponders the absurdity of it all. Who runs out on phenomenal sex? Did she not think it was amazing? Did he do something wrong? All of his usually checked insecurities creeping to the surface. On his way out of the hotel, he tips the front desk guy an obscene amount of money to tell him who rented the penthouse this week. In broken English the hotel clerk tells him her name, “Claire Dearing” adding, “the dinosaur woman.” Owen chokes on a laugh that isn’t funny and stumbles away from the desk. He knows exactly who she is; Owen just fucked his new boss.


	2. Chapter 2

Claire can hear this “Owen” character snoring from the bathroom, so she thinks it’s probably safe to hop in the shower before he’ll be ready for round two. She’d very much like for there to be a round two after their tryst surpassed any and all of her expectations. People don’t usually do that for Claire—pass her expectations, that is—and she’s almost giddy to find out what else this stranger is capable of showing her. 

Despite the giddy, which is plastered all over the smile on her face, she is still Claire, and it occurs to her that she hasn’t checked her email in a few hours. Scrolling through her phone, she doesn’t find much that needs her immediate attention, barring one email from Mr. Masrani, sent rather late the day before. She flicks on the vanity lights above the mirror and opens the email:

Claire!

I hope you’re enjoying your vacation. Did you try the yoga I suggested? The key to a happy life is balance! I have exciting news: InGen has finally hired the new raptor handler, Owen Grady. We need to schedule a meeting next week to work on accommodations for his move to the island. See you soon! 

~Simon

Claire barely registers anything past the name—Owen. Surely, it’s not this Owen. The fucked-out Adonis in the next room said he was in the Navy. One google search later reveals all her worst fears; Owen Grady was lead dolphin trainer for the Navy's Marine Mammal Program in San Diego—his smirk is plastered all over their website. 

Claire sinks down against the vanity, defeated, all her excitement drained. He had so much promising potential, not to mention his unsurpassed ability to make her, well, satisfied. If experience has taught her anything it’s that this little indiscretion will make him completely unbearable to work with. He’ll think he has some kind of power over her in the workplace. He’ll make inappropriate comments and expect special treatment. Men are all the same.

She registers that her heart is now beating uncontrollably in her chest, the panic rising in her throat. She takes a few deep breaths and reassures herself that she has everything under control. She’ll just quietly gather her things and leave as if nothing happened. The next time she sees him, she’ll keep it totally professional, and they can navigate these awkward waters from there.

She quietly gathers her things as Owen snores away on the bed, his massive body spread across the entire mattress, toned ass in the air. She likes him. He was funny, kind, considerate. Not to mention the sex. Absolutely nothing to complain about there. He wasn’t intimidated by her, but he wasn’t disrespectful, either. He looked at her with an adoration she hasn’t seen in a man’s eyes since she became “the dinosaur woman.” 

It doesn’t matter, she tells herself, stuffing clothes into her suitcase. Her career is more important to her than any sex could ever dream to be. She manages to gather all her things and get dressed without waking him. No wonder he’s leaving the Navy, he isn’t very good at detecting stealth activity. She looks back at him once before she closes the door, lamenting the situation, but not the night itself.

She doesn’t see Owen again until the day he is to start working at Jurassic World, roughly a month later. Zara has been handling all of his accommodations, including all of the absurd particulars that went into his bungalow-trailer combo in the middle of nowhere, the delivery of his motorcycle, and the nearly 5000 books he insisted on shipping to the island. 

Claire’s palms are sweaty as she waits on the tarmac for the helicopter to land. Mr. Masrani wanted to fly Owen in himself, the raptor project being a source of great concern as of late, but he had a prior engagement in New York, so Vic Hoskins was making the tip with Owen. Claire would prefer to live several lifetimes without having to interact with Hoskins. He was a sleazy, sneaky, louse of man, who spent so much time cheating on his fourth wife Claire was surprised he could lead InGen’s security force with any amount of success. 

With her hands firmly clasped together and her hair blowing wildly, Claire watches as Hoskins and Owen Grady hop off the helicopter, with Hoskins’ arm draped over his shoulder, laughing hysterically, like the pair of them are old drinking buddies. Claire immediately worries about the character of a man who would enjoy the company of Vic Hoskins. Perhaps ignoring his presence on the island will be easier than Claire imagined. 

Approaching Claire, Hoskins yells out their introduction:

“Owen, I’d like you to meet Claire Dearing, she runs park operations.” Turning from Owen to Claire he continues, “Claire, meet InGen's newest hire, Owen Grady. He’s going to be working on the raptor project.”

Claire beams her most professional smile. He looks different from the last time she saw him. Well, technically, the last time she saw him he was literally butt naked. No, the change from the tailored suit to the casual jeans and vest combination he’s sporting now is certainly different, but she’s really thinking more about the change in his demeanor. 

When he approached her at the bar that fateful night, he seemed almost nervous. Not in an obvious way, but as if the approach cost him some bravery. It was flattering and sweet and it’s why she decided to entertain his flirting to begin with. The smirk on his face now is anything but sweet. It’s as if he’s forcing himself to stand taller, his chest out, like he’s trying to establish dominance in the situation. It’s as if he’s turned his natural confidence up to 1000, accidentally tipping the scales into cocky asshole territory. Claire knew this was going to happen. He obviously thinks he has some power over her just because they slept together, and the thought enrages her. 

In the most disinterested, casual tone of voice Claire can muster, she reaches for his hand and addresses him, "Mr. Grady."   
Claire watches something pass across his eyes, perhaps a recognition of her taciturnity. When he takes her hand, pulling her closer to use his normal volume over the sound of the helicopter, "Actually, it's Owen." 

*****

Owen read everything he could find about Claire Dearing on his trip back to San Diego after their night together. Her journey up the food chain at Jurassic World was nothing short of impressive. Owen could only imagine the amount of shit she had to wade through to get to her position, every article bringing up her gender, beauty, and age— like people don’t have eyes. She was a damn powerhouse, Owen muses, and just like most women, she probably got there by being three hundred times better than any man in the same position. It’s clear that Simon Masrani had a tremendous amount of respect and admiration for Claire, he pretty much said as much in every interview he’s given on the park since its inception. Owen liked and respected Simon from the moment he met him, and his opinion sealed his decision— Owen was going to ask her out on a real date.

The timing and approach for an operation such as this had to be perfect, though. She was obviously skittish, what with the fleeing in the middle of the night for reasons Owen still wasn’t completely sure about, so any advances had to be calculated. 

After the interview, Simon told him that Claire Dearing would be reaching out to arrange this move to the island, so Owen waited for her to contact him. He didn’t know what to think when her assistant Zara contacted him to organize the move. Maybe she figured out who he was and was avoiding him? Maybe he was being paranoid, and she just let Zara handle accommodations for every new employee? He had no real way to be sure and the endless questions were driving him crazy.

He needed to start focusing on his new job, raptors weren’t dolphins, after all, and if he didn’t stop researching the red-head and start studying dinosaurs he was going to be up shit creek without a paddle. He read everything Alan Grant and his team ever wrote and went on from there, but, despite his best efforts, Claire was never far from this mind. 

When his new boss, Hoskins, tells him Claire Dearing is going to be meeting them when they land, he loses all ability to listen to the crude jokes coming from the guy who’s somehow in charge of the park’s security. He laughs and smiles, reading context cues from his new “friend,” without hearing anything but the sound of his own heart beating a mile a minute in his chest.

When they get close to landing, he can see her from his seat on the plane. She’s wearing a silky white blouse with a kelly green, knee length business skirt, and her hands are clasped firmly together. She looks “smart,” as his father would say, classic, and he feels under-dressed in his jeans. Not to mention, he’s sweating right through his shirt like a freak. He needs to get his shit together by the time they land or he’s going to blow any chance he might have with Claire. 

When he jumps off the plane, he makes sure to put on his game face. He’s going to charm the pants off this woman, if it’s the last thing he does. He barely hears Hoskins’ introduction over his attempt to maintain his man-in-charge persona. He’s also just now noticing the striking number of freckles on her face that he couldn’t see without natural sun light. His memory didn’t fail him; she is magnificent.

All his hopes for how this situation could unfold come crashing down around him when she extends a cold, impersonal, “Mr. Grady.”

Now he’s sure he’s been dealing with Zara because Claire has been avoiding him. She clearly doesn’t want to acknowledge their acquaintance, which pisses him off to no end. She obviously thinks she’s too good for him, and now he kind of wants to make her squirm. He pulls her close and, repeating the words from their last conversation, reminds her he hasn’t forgotten the sound of his name on her lips.


	3. Chapter 3

The walls of Owen’s office shake as Claire slams the door behind herself, invading his sacred space. Owen's head immediately shoots up from the paperwork he's working on at his desk to meet her furious eyes, her signature vanilla smell wafting toward him with the gush of wind from the door. 

"You son of a bitch!" She yells, pointing an accusatory finger at him as if he didn’t know who her rage was intended for in his otherwise empty office.

Even though Owen is quite used to the wrath of Clair Dearing after nearly a year at Jurassic World, Owen feels like something isn't quite right about this scenario. He can't firmly put his finger on the weirdness, but her top is cropped and both it and her skirt appear to be made of black leather. Odd look for Claire. Not her usual, but he isn't complaining.

"What did I do now?" Is all he can manage to ask before she charges at him, recklessly shoving everything off his desk and crawling toward him across it on all fours.

"You know exactly what you did, Mr. Grady!" She scolds, without giving him time to defend himself before she's crawling into his lap and forcing her tongue into his mouth. 

Now he knows something's off, but she smells like warm vanilla cookies and she’s relentlessly grinding on his dick and… screaming his name—

"Owen. Owen! OWEN!!!" 

Owen jumps away from the large hand shaking his shoulder, blinking up in shock until Vic Hoskins’ face registers in him mind. He looks around the office like he might actually find Claire, his logical mind knowing it was only a dream, but his traitorous heart hoping for more. 

“Christ, Owen, you smell like shit. Did you stay here again last night?”

“Yeah, man,” Owen shakes his head awake and begins gathering up his paperwork, “the girls were acting up again and I was afraid to leave them.”

“Well, get your shit together, we’re late for our meeting with the Ice Queen.”

He fucking hates it when Vic refers to Claire that way. She isn’t exactly warm, true, but she does what she can to keep shit together and respect should be given when it’s due. But truth be told, she is wearing on him lately. They desperately need another competent handler. He’s sleeping in his office more than he is in his own bed. Claire has the power to fix the situation, but, as always, her bottom line is her chief concern. Or maybe she wants to see him suffer just a bit. 

They never talk about that night. They hardly talk at all, if either of them can help it. She sends Zara or some other lackey to convey messages of praise or discontent from Jurassic World Inc. He generally does the same, ducking and sidestepping Claire at all costs. Sometimes their clash can’t be avoided, and that’s what it always turns into, a clash, of ideas and tempers, the tension between them palpable. They challenge each other, keep one another on their toes, and if he sneaks a glance at her ass as she walks away that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

Owen took the hint after their official meeting on the helicopter pad. In the moment, he could feel anger and disappointed swirling around in the pit of his stomach—she was obviously so ashamed of him that she’d pretend they’d never met—but he isn't one to hold a grudge. In the time since his arrival on the island, he’s been consumed by his work, spending nearly every waking moment learning about raptors and, when the need arises, he finds a woman to warm his bed for a night or two. 

To anyone on the outside it looked like he had it all— but the dreams were still there. Somehow, Claire had clawed her way into his subconscious and she was slowly gnawing away at his sanity. It was infuriating and pitiful and dream-Claire forcing her tongue down his throat is all he can think about during this never-ending staff meeting he’s being forced to endure. When she starts arguing with Vic about the cost of hiring another trainer for the raptor paddock, he pulls himself out of his pathetic head and lets his sleep deprived mouth run wild. 

“Jesus, Claire, are you that much of a coward that you won’t even ask Masrani for a few extra bucks to keep the raptors from eating the few handlers you did manage to hire?”

The boardroom goes completely silent. The eyes of everyone in attendance growing wide at the open insubordination. Claire and Owen stare at each other, fury wafting off both of them. To the surprise of everyone in the room, she decides to completely ignore his comment. 

“Meeting dismissed. Please remember to turn in your monthly reports.”

Attendees filter out of the room slowly, Owen is the last to leave, she can tell it pisses him off that she ignored him, but he leaves without further fight. He must be tired, she muses. 

“Not going to lie, I thought you were going to jump across the table and slit his throat with your ink pen,” Zara comments while finishing her notes. 

“He’s right. I need to push Masrani on this one. The situation is getting dangerous. Did you see the bags under his eyes? His staff says he’s sleeping in his office more nights than not.”

Zara and Claire can see Owen chatting up one of the petting zoo handlers through the glass window of the boardroom. She was probably impressed by his rebellious display. 

“Are we sure it’s the work that’s wearing him out?” Zara asks with a sly smile, watching the familiar scene unfold between own and the younger woman. 

"He certainly gets around." Claire deadpans, just as he puts a hand on the woman’s back to lead her away from the meeting, probably back to his shithole bungalow. 

"How do you think he gets away with it?"

"Gets away with what?" Claire ask, sincerely confused. 

"Gets away with sleeping with all these women and still manages to maintain his “nice guy” persona. Think about it, have you ever heard anyone utter a single word against him? It's impressive really."

“I don’t know.” Claire says with a sigh. “I guess he has that mid-western, working-class, misunderstood-intellectual, Bruce Springsteen charm going for him. I mean, do his hands really need to be that dirty all the time? Half his job is research!” Claire’s afraid the unintended passion behind her little rant may have revealed too much about her Owen observations, but Zara zigs when she thinks she’ll zag.

"I bet he'd like to get those hands on you."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, was I being too blunt again? I just mean he obviously fancies you."

"What makes you say that?" 

"Come on Claire, you've never noticed the way he looks at you?”

"What way?" Claire isn’t being coy, she hasn’t noticed whatever Zara thinks she’s seeing.

Zara rolls her eyes. "Okay, if you're oblivious to the eye sex, you must see how protective he gets around you."

"Oh, yeah, I noticed that when he was yelling at me just now." 

"That's just business. Have you really not noticed the way he stands between you and Hoskins?” “Oh!” Zara screeches as she remembers more evidence of Owen’s love, “what about that time that drunk guest cat-called you and he practically jumped the bugger?"

"He has manners?” Claire retorts, scrunching her face up in confusion. 

Zara shakes her head. "I think it's more than that with you."

Claire’s eager to change the subject to something other than Owen Grady. "You're just in the honeymoon phase of your relationship when you want all the world to be in love. How is Alec, by the way?"

"Devastatingly handsome and great in bed, thanks for asking." Zara collects the meeting notes and leaves Claire alone with her thoughts. 

Owen hasn’t exactly turned out to be the man she thought she’d have to deal with after their tryst. He’s given her distance and respect, two things she didn’t expect from the man. She begrudgingly admits to herself that he isn’t exactly like other men. Granted, he is clearly fond of busting her chops, but, typically, he treats her with the appropriate amount of respect around co-workers. That’s how she knows he must be reaching a breaking point with this under-staffing issue. Claire pushes away from the table and returns to her office to call Simon herself. 

XXXXX

The sun is setting by the time her car pulls up to his bungalow one week after their infamous staff meeting. Claire finds Owen exactly where she expected to, sitting by the water with a fishing pole, reading a book.

"Please tell me this is a booty call," he jokes without looking at her.

"You wish." Claire stands quietly behind him for a minute, taking in the swirl of colors that dance on the water as twilight approaches. "What are you reading?"

Still not looking up he responds to her question, "Like you don't already know. You quarantine every box of books I have sent here."

"All packages over 20 pounds must go through additional security screenings for park safety."

"Do you hear yourself when you talk? You sound a lot like the pre-recorded announcement in the visitor's center, is all I'm saving.” When she doesn’t react to his teasing he adds, “It's Walden, if you must know."

"Well, at least that explains all this," she says, gesturing with her hand at his bungalow.

"Did you just come here to insult my humble abode?"

"Actually, I'm here because I have good news. Mr. Masrani has finally approved the hiring of another handler."

Owen finally spins around in his seat to look at her, "No shit?"

"None whatsoever." 

"How'd you work that magic?"

"I may have suggested we start thinking about the raptors as potential park exhibits, which, obviously, would require a handler who could tolerate being in the public eye." Her jab isn’t subtle, but she knows him well enough to know that the shot at his personality won’t be the thing that enrages him about her statement. 

"Jesus, Claire, they aren't a damn sideshow."

"We can agree to disagree on the assents' potential. In any event, my argument got you a new hire." Claire walks away, speaking over her shoulder, "Please consider selecting a pleasant individual." 

"Wait, wait, wait," he yells jumping from his chair to run after her, "did you come all the way down here just to tell me, in addition to all my other duties, I now have to hire a ringleader for one of your future circus acts?"

"I thought you'd be pleased." Her innocent eyes contradict her knowing smirk. She undoubtedly did not think he’d be pleased. 

"No, you didn't. You want me to pay for back talking you in that meeting last week."

Her smirk grows into a toothy smile, "What can I say, Mr. Grady, you should be careful what you wish for."

Looking into her beautiful eyes he starts to laugh at the irony of her words. He had another dream about her last night. This time it was tender, SHE was tender, and the feeling of fondness had been with him all day. "When you're right, you're right."

“I’m sorry?”

“No, I'm sorry, about losing my cool in that meeting. I should have talked to you about the issue privately."

Claire blinks her eyes, taken aback, "That's big of you."

"I'm a big guy," he adds with a wink.

Claire rolls her eyes. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Grady?"

Owen had a friend in the Navy, Sam, who was into photography and he suddenly remembers a conversation they had about the cinematic power of dusk. Sam called it “the golden hour,” when everything is covered in a warm orange light right before the sunsets. Standing with Claire in his yard, the orange glow lighting her hair and freckles on fire, he remembers his friend. He lost Sam in Kabul. He didn’t have to lose Claire. 

"We could try a date, I mean, a real one, you know with dinner and what not." It's the first time he's even gotten close to acknowledging their non-date and while he’s brave enough to meet her eyes, he’s shuffling from foot to foot like he’s in pain and has to keep redistributing his weight to keep from falling over.

She likes him best when the mask slips. She’s known that from the moment he stepped onto the island with that awful, fake, cocky grin plastered to his face. Maybe Zara was right. Maybe they both have feelings that should be explored now that they know each other better. If he’s willing to bend, to make himself vulnerable to her, maybe she can too. "What did you have in mind?"

"I pick you up at your place at 7pm on Friday."

"I guess I'll see you then, Owen." She turns to leave before she can see the smile on his face at the drop of his first name. 

"Looking forward to it, Claire."

XXXXXX

Owen hasn't taken a single day off since he started working on Isla Nublar, but he wants his date with Claire to be perfect, so he takes the day to finalize the last-minute details. He picks up his suit from the dry cleaners and a huge bouquet of flowers from one of the shops on main street that caters to island weddings for weirdos with dino fetishes. He double checked his reservation on the mainland, a five-star restaurant complete with a dance floor. With all his plans in place, he pulls one his only suit to get ready for the big night. He is struggling to tie his tie in the mirror of his cramped bungalow bathroom when his cell phone rings with an unknown number.

"Yeah," Owen yells into the phone, resting it on his shoulder so he can continue his battle with his tie. 

"Mr. Grady?"

"Zara?" Owen drops his tie and focuses his attention on the call. 

"Miss Dearing, will be unavailable to make your meeting this evening. She would like to reschedule for the Friday after next."

He watches her words register on his own face in the mirror and the disappointment he can see there wrecks him, "Christ, Zara, she couldn't even call me herself? I made reservations on the mainland." 

"She deeply regrets this cancellation." Zara is all business. 

He chuckles. "Oh, I bet."

She reiterates her question, "So, Friday after next?" 

"Sure. Pencil me in." Owen hangs up the phone and tosses it into his bathroom sink before Zara can even confirm his response. This was a fucking mistake from the start. Claire doesn’t take him seriously and she never will. He tells himself it’s fine, that there are plenty of fish in the sea, and when their rescheduled date rolls around he actually forgets about it until the fifteen minute reminder beeps on this cell phone’s calendar app and he has to race from the paddock to her apartment. 

Her judgmental once-over of his outfit when she answers the door tells him right away that she isn’t pleased with his outfit or his lateness. He doesn’t care. Late or not, there was no way in hell he was going to dress up again just to have her cancel on him. Fool me once. When she immediately pulls out a three-page itinerary outlining every aspect of their evening, he thinks he finally understands the reason she cancelled the first date. Control. She wanted to plan the night because she didn’t trust him to not fuck it up. This woman’s issues have issues. 

He goes along with her plan, the first stop a restaurant he is way under-dressed for. She’s quiet during dinner, so he orders shots to lighten the mood. His idea bombs when she declines the drink because her diet won’t allow it. It occurs to him that everything about her is strictly controlled. She’s in a cage of her own making and if there is one thing that Owen fears it’s life in a cage. As she drones on about schedules and timelines, his heart breaks for her. He isn’t mad anymore, but he realizes she is the Hotel California of women and if he isn’t careful he’ll end up just as tightly wound and miserably stuck as she is. 

He bails after dinner, making some excuse up about the paddock, and leaving an entire page of itinerary events undone. The next time they see each other they both act like nothing has changed between them, and, technically, nothing really has changed. He still dreams about her.


	4. Chapter 4

The second Claire pulls up to the paddock the rain begins beating down on her windshield with a force that startles her enough to jump in her seat. Her desire to outrun the storm was ambitious at best but getting stuck at the raptor paddock is her worst-case scenario. She fantasizes about throwing the car in reverse and hightailing it back to her office, but she knows she has a duty to ensure all park employees and assets are secured before the hurricane hits the island with full force.

Unfortunately, she can’t leave, even if she really wanted to, because an unknown car pulls up behind her, blocking her escape. She can see two people in the vehicle but can't make out their faces through the rain until the passenger jumps out and heads for the dry underside of the paddock's outdoor staircase. It's Owen Grady, she realizes, but doesn't have time to dwell on that fact because the driver of the car leaps out to follow him. It's the park's head pastry chef, Claire can't remember her name, and she's handing Owen his leather jacket, complete with a face-grabbing kiss on the lips. The scene is so domestic that Claire feels like she's spying on a private moment between the two causing her to drop her head and choke back the sick that's risen to the back of her throat. 

She didn't realize they were still a thing. She heard a rumor about them hooking up two months ago—this must be a relationship personal record for him. The woman is beautiful, blonde, young, and charming. Actually, Claire was the one who hired her a few years back and even she was taken by her fun-loving free spirit and infectious laugh. An unknown organ in Claire's chest aches at the thought of her warm smile directed at Owen.

When Claire finally looks up again, Owen is alone, holding his coat and looking in her direction. She doesn't think he can see her clearly in this downpour, but she still freezes under his glare. She hears the car behind her pulling out just as Owen disappears into the paddock’s main lobby. 

It's been nearly a year since the catastrophe that was their first date and she knows she's mostly to blame for how badly it went. When Simon called her for a last-minute Skype meeting with an important investor in New York City she didn't have the heart to tell him she had a date. He probably would have understood, the romantic that he is, but she wanted to be the one to close the deal, so she asked Zara to reschedule with Owen. 

Zara told her he was livid, that he was going on about making fancy plans on the mainland, and she knew then that at the very least she should have called him herself. She tried to make it up to him by planning out every detail of the rescheduled date, but his eyes expanded into saucers when she pulled out their itinerary. He showed up late, dressed like a bum, to punish her, she was sure, and the date just got progressively more awkward as she struggled through dinner just trying to keep the conversation going. He left early and never called again. 

Their mutual avoidance campaign has been largely successful, until today that is, and Claire has a hunch he’s mad at her to boot. She knows from the HR paperwork that crossed her desk days ago that he had plans to leave the island for a week before she declared a code red— all employees on deck emergency order. She waited as long as she could before she made the order, the hurricane turning to hit them head on just this morning. And, it’s a good thing she made the unpopular decision because Lowery received a distress call from the raptor paddock just as she was about to hunker down in the control room. 

"How is everything going here?" Even at a run from her car to the paddock door, Claire is completely soaked when the door slams behind her and she meets the inquisitive eyes of several paddock employees, including Barry and Owen. Somehow, Owen did a fantastic job hiring someone pleasant for the handler opening last year. Owen knew Barry before the park, although Claire is unsure how—Barry has a warm, jovial nature, and picturing the two of them forming a friendship is difficult. 

"Just fucking peachy,” Owen responds, adding, “What are you doing his far from your ivory tower?" His face is scrunched up in confusion with a hint of annoyance and it’s clear he thinks she’s invading his turf. 

Straightening her back to stand taller and hopefully diminish the drowned rat look she’s currently sporting, she informs him, "I came to check on the status of the assets." Barry approaches to hand her a towel, and she thanks him without taking her eyes off of Owen’s. 

"The ANIMALS are rowdy, but we have it under control. Feel free to return to your cozy control room."

Claire rolls her eyes. She knew he was going to be a pain in the ass today. Using the towel to dry off as much as she can, she tells him why she left her domain, “We received a distress call about the raptors.”

Owen shoots Barry a look that could kill. “Yeah, well, I’m here now, so feel free to let me handle the dinosaurs. I’m sure you have monetary damages to assess elsewhere.”

That officially concludes the amount of Owen’s shit Claire is willing to take and she snaps back at him for the disrespect, "What the hell is wrong with you today? You're being an even bigger ass than usual."

Owen lets out a deep, guttural grunt and walks away leaving Claire and Barry standing side by side staring after him. 

“Did he just growl at me?” Claire asks Barry without looking at the man beside her. 

"His mother passed away a few days ago. He was going to fly out for the funeral, but the storm took care of that."

"Oh.” Claire struggles to find the appropriate words for the situation. “I see. I didn't know." She’s watching Owen in the distance brutally bark orders at anyone and everyone in earshot and her heart hurts for him in a way that surprise her. 

Before Claire has a chance to think further on the subject a huge crash of thunder shakes the building around them followed closely by lightning that illuminates the room they’re standing in. The storm is moving quickly, she absently notes to herself, and turns to Barry for the explanation on the situation that she obviously isn’t going to get from Owen.

“The raptors are refusing orders to come in from the storm. They won’t let us harness them. Under normal circumstance it’s a disciple issue, but in a hurricane, well, the safety of everyone is at risk. We can’t have someone on the catwalk with lightning and wind putting them in danger.” 

“No, we certainly cannot.” The words are barely out of her mouth when she spots Owen on the other side of the room, taking the internal stairs to the catwalk three at a time, vanishing through the door outside. “Then what the hell is he doing?” Claire is already running after him when she asks the question and her stomach is in her throat with worry by the time she climbs the stairs and swings the heavy door open to reveal Owen running along the catwalk in the middle of a hurricane. 

“You cannot be out here in this weather! It’s too dangerous.” She’s yelling as loud as she can for him to hear her over the relentless rain and the thunder. 

“Go home, Claire, I have it under control,” he yells back without really acknowledging her presence. 

Refusing to be ignored, Claire runs onto the structure after him, miscalculating the slipperiness of the metal, causing one of her legs to slide out from under her while the heel of her other shoe catches in one of the metal grates. The ankle of her stuck foot breaks in half as she falls, throwing her halfway over the side of the catwalk. Her scream can be heard over the storm and the raptors come running from their hiding spot to snap at the woman dangling into their encloser. 

“Claire!” Owen screams as he runs for her, slipping a bit himself on the way to her side. He reaches for her hand to pull her back to safety, but she’s freaking out and can’t pull her attention from the hungry pack of predators below. Owen screams her name again, finally grabbing her attention, he can see now that the only thing keeping her on the catwalk is a heel attached to a broken ankle. 

“Grab my hand, Claire,” he screams, but she’s still panicking, flailing around, trying to save herself. When he manages to catch her eyes he yells, “Trust me, please,” and finally she grabs onto him and lets him lift her to safety. 

She’s in excruciating pain, her tears mixing with the rain that has now soaked them both completely. She could hear it in his last frantic plea and now she can see it in his searching eyes— he’s terrified. Still, he maintains his calm, delicately removing her heel from the metal and lifting her in his arms effortlessly. 

She buries her face in his chest so the others won’t see her cry as he carries her through the paddock to his office. Barry holds the door for them, reaching the catwalk in time to see Owen pull her up. Owen askes Barry to follow him as they pass him; She'd really rather he didn't pull Barry into this, she wants her pain to be as private as possible, but when they get into his office and he refuses to let her go, sitting himself down on his office sofa with her cradled in his lap, she realizes he wants to comfort her while Barry address her ankle. She knows it's his choice because he's giving Barry instructions, clearly the one who knows how best to handle the injury, but he'd rather murmur reassurances into her ear, his massive arms holding her tightly to his chest.

She's almost hypnotized by how calm he is, completely in control, and it strikes her as mildly alarming that chaos is obviously his element. This is the man to have around in a crisis. 

She also realizes that he smells the same. That is, he smells the way he did the last time her face was buried in his chest. Her sense memory brings flashes of that night to the forefront of her mind until all she can think about is the way he felt moving inside her. Inappropriate or not it's a welcome distraction from the shooting pain creeping up her lower half.

Barry manages to wrap the leg, elevate it, and retrieve an ice pack before Owen risks pulling her away from his chest to look into her eyes. She can see a tenderness and concern in his gaze that she hasn’t seen in another for as long as she can remember.

"You alright?" 

The question is simple, but the gentle tone of his voice coupled with the look he’s giving her makes her want to hide from the vulnerability. She doesn’t want anyone, let alone Owen Grady, to see her weakness. She runs her hands over her eyes to dry her tears and fakes a stern look up at him, “I told you it was dangerous out there."

Owen rolls his eyes. "Yep, you're fine." He immediately starts to disentangle himself from her, replacing his lap with a sofa pillow. She misses his warmth immediately and a part of her regrets her attempt to change the mood. 

He immediately starts pacing around the room and it isn’t until he locates a blanket and covers her that she understands what he’s doing. He keeps running a hand through his hair and down the side of his face and she notes he looks more distressed now than he did during the actual emergency. "It's probably best for you to stay here, off the leg, until the hurricane passes and we can get you to medical.” He points at the door, “I’ll, uh, get out of your hair." 

"Stay. Please." Claire doesn’t recognize the sound of her own voice, the desperate words pouring from her lips as if something from the depths of her soul couldn’t stomach the idea of watching him leave. 

He looks just as surprised to hear the words as Claire was to say them, but he nods his head slowly and honors her request, "Yeah, okay, I probably have some paperwork to finish.”

"Undoubtedly."

Owen tilts his head at her and snickers. She can tell he knows her humor is covering something else but he’s smart enough not to call her on it.   
"You scared me tonight," he tells her, the words raw and honest and his suddenly earnest eyes hold her gaze. 

"You scared me first." Looking up at him from the sofa makes her feel small and exposed and the seconds that pass between them after her words feel like centuries. 

He simply nods his head and walks over to sit at his desk. She can’t see him anymore, his desk is on the far wall of his office, behind her head and to the left, so when he finally speaks again he’s addressing the whole room, "Look, I'm sorry for being such an asshole today. I'm having a bad week."

Claire has been in his office before, but now that she’s sofa-ridden she’s forced to take it all in. She’s bowled over by the rows and rows of books that line the shelves along every wall. She thinks of his mother, the dancing English teacher, if she’s remembering that story correctly. 

"Barry told me about your mom. I'm sorry."

"Thank you." He clears his throat, “It was sudden."

Claire waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t. She silently wishes she could look at him to judge his demeanor. "I lost my mom a few years back, also suddenly. It was very hard on my sister. They were closer. I haven't been back home since the funeral.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

The room falls silent for longer than she is comfortable abiding, so she attempts to change the subject. 

"So, you and the pastry chef, huh?" 

She can hear him chuckle, "Her name is Lorelei."

"I knew that." Claire is matter-or-fact. 

"No you didn't." Owen isn’t buying it. 

"I knew I knew it at one point." She can hear him laugh again, but then the room is quiet. 

"We have a good thing going," he volunteers after her question is nearly forgotten. 

His statement hits her harder than she would like, a knot suddenly appearing in the pit of her stomach, dominating the physical pain coming from her ankle, "Oh, well, that's great. I'm very happy for you." She thinks she mostly means it. 

Before he has a chance to respond, Barry knocks on the door and enters on Owen’s permission, quickly catching them up on the situation, “The raptors are secured, and the storm seems to be letting up. Would you like for me to call medical to bring a car?”

“Yes, please,” Claire responds without waiting for Owen to answer. This conversation, hell, his very proximity, is opening several doors she’d like to keep welded shut for eternity, so the faster she can get out of this situation the better. 

Barry confirms her request with a head nod and shuts the door behind himself and Owen and Claire sit in silence until medical transport arrives. 

XXXXX

Two weeks later, Owen is climbing the steps to his bungalow, weary from the mental and emotional exhaustion of his visit home, when he finds a card wedged under his door. Dropping his duffel bag by the island counter in his tiny kitchen, he frees his hands to open it. It’s a typical bereavement corporate card, but the hand-written words inscribed inside knock the breath from his lungs:

Unable are the Loved to die  
For Love is Immortality,  
Nay, it is Deity—

Unable they that love—to die  
For Love reforms Vitality  
Into Divinity. 

~ Emily Dickinson

The card is signed by none other than the “Ice Queen” herself, Claire Dearing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I was dealing with heavy life shit. I hope you enjoy this one. The final chapter will be up soon.

The incident at the paddock changes something between them. Owen can’t quite put his finger on the origin of the shift, but it feels like they understand each other a bit better. He knows now that her need for control is part of her persona; the shrill, no-nonsense business woman she’s carefully crafted to succeed in a world with completely fucked up priorities. That’s not to say he necessarily dislikes her ability to kick ass and take names, but he realizes now that it’s just a small part of who she is at her core— a woman filled with kindness and compassion. 

Like a junkie with a taste for their drug of choice, Owen found that once he got her to open up, to share real parts of herself, he couldn’t get enough. He starts to swing by her office once a week with a coffee and joke about how it’s his fault she’s stuck at her desk with a broken ankle and can’t get her own afternoon caffeine boost. Even after her leg heals and the boot is removed, they continue their coffee non-dates. She makes it a point to remind him these are not dates by asking about Lorelei at every meeting, which is fine, because it takes the edge off their rendezvous. They can try to form a friendship without worrying about whether or not an attraction exists. They mostly keep the conversations light, talking about park business, or island gossip. They do not always agree and their meetings sometimes end in heated arguments, but he always returns the next week to go another round. 

Truthfully, he does have a good thing with Lorelei. She's sweet and funny and they get along swimmingly. She's younger, and the age gap does occasionally knock them off the same page, but they generally see eye to eye. It's easy with her. She doesn't demand anything of him, nor does he her, and they can live their lives apart until they want company.

But as the months pass and Claire and Owen begin to form a genuine friendship, he finds himself looking forward to their meetings more than he looks forward to his actual dates, and he recognizes he’s using his relationship with Lorelei as a crutch. As long as they’re together, he doesn’t have to address his feelings for Claire. And he does have feelings for her, he dreams about her nearly every night now and their silly conversations fill his mind during all of his quiet moments. Even so, it isn’t until a tiny red-headed toddler bumps into him on his way out of one of the park’s cafes and he starts to daydream about what their kids might look like that he finally acknowledges to himself that he’s got it bad. 

The inner turmoil of risking a good thing for something that might be great, but might also be the death of him, starts to weigh heavily on his conscience. He feels a pit of guilt and shame growing in his stomach when Lorelei spends the night and he starts to contemplate his escape. When Lorelei asks him to join her on her trip back to the states for Thanksgiving he takes the opportunity to bow out as gracefully as he can. She asks him if it’s because of another woman and he tells her the detail-less truth—he has feelings for someone else. She seems to appreciate the honestly, if not the fact itself, and they part more or less as friends. 

He continues his coffee non-dates with Claire until he can come up with a plan to get her to go on another actual date with him. When she asks how Lorelei is doing he tells her she’s fine, he assumes she is, waiting until the opportune time to tell her the full truth. But Owen finds that selecting the right time to be both courageous and vulnerable is complicated. He doesn’t want to scare her or ruin the delicate balance they’ve established. He’d honestly rather have some of Claire than none of Claire and the thought that he could blow up their friendship with a romantic gesture unnerves him.

He finally gives himself an ultimatum, opting to reveal his feelings at the upcoming Christmas party. He’s too late. He didn’t realize you could experience physical pain from an emotion until he sees Claire enter the holiday clad visitors’ center with another man on her arm. As always, she looks absolutely stunning in a cherry red, strapless ball gown, and Owen’s stomach does a flip, making him cough and nearly choke on the finger food he’s munching at the buffet table. 

Barry must notice the change in his demeanor, or the carrot lodged firmly in his bone-dry throat, because he sidles up to him, looking between the entrance and Owen’s face, piecing together the cause of his friend’s distress. 

"She brought a date,” Barry states as a matter of fact. 

Owen snaps out of his torturous trance, turns his back on the scene at the door, and returns this attention to the food table, "now what makes you think I should know that?"

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you knew exactly who I was talking about."

"Toshe." Owen loosens his stupid Christmas tie and continues to stuff appetizers into his mouth. This is obviously going to be a dumpster fire of an evening, he figures he might as well eat and get comfortable. 

Just when he starts contemplating what fork to stab himself with, Lowery makes an appearance at the buffet table. Owen met Lowery at a poker game at Barry’s place and they’ve had love-hate relationship ever since. Lowery is basically the little brother Owen never wanted. 

"Merry Christmas!" Lowery boldly proclaims upon his entrance. 

"It's December 5th, dumb-ass." Owen isn’t in the mood for cheer. 

Lowery ignores him and turns to Barry for answers to Owen’s bad attitude, “Yikes, what’s wrong with him?”

“Girl problems.”

“Which girl?”

“Your mom,” Owen quips, hopefully cutting Barry off before he spills the beans entirely.

“Very funny.” Lowery’s attention shifts for a second from the food to the dance floor, “Hey, Barry, isn’t that the T-Rex handler you went home with after the Halloween party? What’s her name?”

“I actually don’t know,” Barry respond with an innocent snicker. 

Barry has been drooling over the beautiful Spanish woman who handles the T-Rex for weeks now. “You don't even know her name? Jesus, Barry, listen to a man who knows— never, and I mean never, sleep with a woman before getting her full name.”

Laughing at the passion behind his words, Barry goads him, “Is that right?”

“Absolutely. Otherwise you wake up soulless, next to Lilith or Babylon or she beast—”

Claire clears her throat behind Owen.

“Ah, speak of the devil!” Owen turns from the food and plasters on his widest smile, a mask he’s getting sick of wearing. 

“Am I interrupting something, gentlemen?”

Owen can’t help but notice she’s even more magnificent close up. Her hair is wrapped up in a flawless bun at the nap of her neck and he wants nothing more than to undo it, undo her, if he’s being honest. She left her date, the Princeton grad in the $4000 Valentino tux, talking to Masrani by the door. 

Lowery fumbles, “Nope, we were just talking about… Satan?” 

“Smooth,” Owen whispers to Lowery’s horrendous attempt at a cover up.

Something wicked in him stirs and he wants to put her on the spot more than anything, so he asks her to dance, knowing she won’t say no or make a fuss about it in front of Lowery and Barry. As he predicted, she agrees and the two of them walk to the dance floor in silence. There is no intimacy in their sway like the last time she was in him arms, but she lets him lead right away, no doubt sensing the fury wafting off of him. Still, she stares him directly in the eyes, daring him to say his piece. 

“Why didn't you bother to tell me about Mr. Moneybags over there?"

"His name is Matthew. Why didn't you tell me about Lorelei?"

She knows. Guilt and regret swirl together inside him, filling his chest with a heavy pressure, and he defends his idiocy the best way he can, "I was going to tell you tonight!"

“I bet.”

Owen rolls his eyes, eager to turn the conversation back to her indiscretions, “So, what’s his story?”

“His story?”

“What does he do? Why is he here? Specifically tonight, in my line of vision.”

Ignoring the animosity in this second question, she answers the first, “He’s an Asset Wellness Consultant.”

"What the hell does that mean?"

"He conducts research on the financial wellness of the park and then we consult on his findings."

"Ah.” Owen furrows his brow to fain deep consideration, “So do you prefer to consult at his place or yours?"

Claire stills their pathetic attempt at dancing, "You're out of line, Mr. Grady."

"Oh, we back to that now are we?"

"Look, I don't know what kind of claim you think you have over me, but I can assure you that we do not have the connection you're imagining."

“Right, God forbid you form a connection.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, CHAIRE, it means you can’t relax unless you have all things under your control.”

“Pot. Kettle. Black. You get one date cancelled on you and you pout like a giant baby.”

“We make choices, Claire, and those choices reveal our priorities.”

“Oh, please, don’t lecture me on my decisions, at least I’ve been honest with you.”

“Claire Dearing: Martyr Extraordinaire. Tell me, Claire, am I just more than you bargained for?”

Claire rolls her eyes, “You certainly weren't cheap. I feel like I've been paying for you for years.”

“Awe, you're gonna make me blush.”

“That was not a compliment, Mr. Grady.” 

“You'll be back for more.”

Claire laughs out loud, but she takes the bait anyway, “What makes you so sure?” 

“He's boring. He has a nice job, house, car? So what. You already have all of that on your own. This bozo has absolutely nothing you need.” 

“And what do I NEED, Mr. Grady?” 

Owen leans down to whisper in her ear, “If I have to tell you then you aren't ready for it.”

They aren’t moving, haven’t been moving for a while, posed like a statue of people who were once dancing together. She stares at him, shocked at his directness, annoyed at his choice of location to challenge her. He stares back, unflinching, demanding an answer to an unasked question. 

Claire finally breaks the silence, “I’ve had enough.”

Owen scoffs, “Big surprise.”

Owen leaves her on the dance floor without looking back and returns to Lowery and Barry still standing by the buffet table.

“That looked like it went well.”

“Shut it, toy boy.”

“For the last time, I collect action figures, they are not toys, there is a difference. Wait, is Claire the one you’re having “girl problems” with?”

Owen glares at Barry. 

“As soon as Masrani comes around I’m gone.” He shoves a cookie in his mouth with too much force and makes eye contact with Claire who is now chatting with Zara on the other side of the room.

“Wow. He does not like seeing you with another man.” Zara sips her humorously large glass of wine while she muses on the situation. 

“Too damn bad. He’s not the boss of me.”

“No, but in the right setting that might be fun.”

“I’m with Matthew now.”

“Are you though?”

“Yes!”

“No, I mean practically, where is he?”

Claire looks around for her date. To her dismay, she watches him approach Owen. 

“Shit.”

Claire practically runs across the room to avoid the train wreck she can see coming from a mile away. She approaches the group of men just in time to hear Matthew ask Owen, “Do they do any neat tricks?”

“Tricks?” Owen growls. 

Barry wraps his arm around Matthew’s shoulders like they’re old buddies, directing him toward Claire, “Say, Matthew, here comes your beautiful date.”

Barry whispers to Claire, “Help!”

“Where did you run off to?” Claire asks as she loops her arm around her date’s arm.

“I was just speaking with Mr. Grady here about his little dinosaur project.”

“My “little project” where I teach dinos to do “tricks,” as it were.”

Lowery finally realizes the seriousness of the situation, whispering to Barry, “Uh-oh, he’s using air quotes mad. Abort. Abort.”

“Why don’t we have a toast?” Barry yells out in desperation to avoid the explosion he can see brewing in Owen’s eyes. 

“Splendid!” Matthew enthusiastically agrees. 

“Splendid!” Owen mocks and raises his glass. Glaring only at Claire, he invokes Yeats:

"Wine comes in at the mouth  
And love comes in at the eye;  
That’s all we shall know for truth  
Before we grow old and die.  
I lift the glass to my mouth,  
I look at you, and I sigh."

Claire stares daggers back at him and downs her drink in one gulp.


End file.
